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Buckfast:
Self-Titled EP
Ambivalence is perhaps one of the most difficult emotions to cope with, especially when it comes to music. Its fairly easy to dismiss a new album whose aesthetic is simply off from yours, and theres nothing better than immediately embracing one that seems like it was sent down from heaven for you alone. But what about those albums you connect with so strongly at moments, and would be embarrassed to admit to having in your collection at others? Enter Buckfast, a quartet from San Francisco who inspired just that sort of personal conflict as I listened to their debut six-song EP and tried to prepare this review. Rarely have I heard a band with so much potential that was so at risk of letting it go completely to waste. The bands bio says that when the two founding members first met, they had endless conversations about music, covering everything from 80s hair metal to Radiohead, Stone Roses and The Pixies. Unfortunately, even a quick listen to the album reveals that the whole 80s hair metal genre plays more of a role in defining Buckfasts sound than the few alt greats they mention. The frustrating thing, though? When they suppress those Warrant and Motley Cre tendencies, Buckfast is a terrific band. The album begins with a killer guitar riff, and when the drums kick in, you figure youre in for a treat its clear these guys can play. Then the vocals come in, and everything sounds fine . . . until the first chorus starts: Save me / Im waiting for the summer to show up in my mind / Its coming up again and again and again / Dont you know this takes the rest of your life? Huh? Not only are the lyrics incredibly bland, the singer switches into true rawk mode to belt them out, sounding more like he needs a toilet than anything else. And it isnt long until the first guitar solo breaks out, full-on Slash style. Corporit is the name of this tune, and corporate it sounds like. But then its straight into Satellite, and what a difference. The chorus soars in this tune, and the vocalist is suddenly a perfect blend of early Bono and Thom Yorke emotional, yearning, and genuine. The guitar, initially gentle and reverb-drenched, ends up pounding away with Interpol-like intensity, and indie cred almost seems like a possibility. Dare you start to fall under Buckfasts spell, however, the albums nadir, Just Like You, arrives promptly to snap you out of it. Oh boy. Think the cheesiest bands of 1988, only without the spandex, hairspray and blue eyeshadow and that just makes it worse. The chorus? I did it to myself / I did it with my soul right up in the air. Yeah! They couldnt possibly recover from that, right? Well, Ill be damned, here we go again: The fourth tune, Ca, is another move back in the right direction. More Interpol-esque guitars, a driving bass riff and a lovely vocal melody all add up to a terrific song that would have fit quite nicely between R.E.M. and Nirvana on early 90s alt-rock radio. There seems to be a pattern here: the even-numbered songs are a throwback to classic college rock with just enough of a new sound to pass successfully for solid, post-Clinton alternative, while the odd-numbered selections are plainly laughable faux-metal tunes with constipated vocals and asinine lyrics. Buckfast has a choice to make. If the only thing theyre out to do is make a fast buck, they might as well stick to their generic arena rock tendencies, writing boring, power-ballad-sappy riffs and shouting nonsense while striking a false pose of angry-boy sensitivity. If theyre out to make art, they need to concentrate on those pretty melodies and edgy musical explosions theyre capable of. Because ambivalence just isnt nice.
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